


Dumpster Puppy

by ThrillingDetectiveTales



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Gen, self-indulgent bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrillingDetectiveTales/pseuds/ThrillingDetectiveTales
Summary: "Uh, sorry," Josh says, and feels a damning heat flood the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears. "Down around Main and Bull. Coupla shitheel kids had him cornered down an alley, throwin' rocks at him.""Hm," Dr. Vasquez says noncommittally, and Josh is surprised and somewhat delighted there's an edge of menace to the sound that promises swift violence should he ever catch the little bastards in the act. Dr. Vasquez takes a deep breath and then bends down to feel along the puppy's ribs, sighing "Well, he's lucky he had you to rescue him."





	Dumpster Puppy

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo **xenomorphicjedi** on Tumblr asked for some Vasquez and Faraday and animals and I've been ruminating on a vet!trope fic and this happened.
> 
> Warnings up front that there is not especially graphic violence against animals in this, and that all I know about veterinary medicine is what I've learned from taking my dogs to the vet so sorry for the probably terrible inaccuracies.
> 
> Not edited but I hope you enjoy it even so!
> 
> PS: Sorry about the title but I couldn't think of anythig better and **greatdisorder** is an enabler.

"Where did you say you found him?" the vet asks, and then immediately drops into a series of gentle shushing noises as the puppy - mangy little puddle of fur around skinny little bones, back leg splayed at an awkward angle against the tabletop - whimpers and whines at the sensation of the stethoscope against his scrawny ribs. The vet makes a soft clucking noise of sympathy and murmurs lowly, "Esta bien, perrito, no dolerá por mucho más tiempo."

Josh will admit to staring a bit.

This was not what he'd expected of his afternoon when he'd ventured off the lot where the construction company he's currently contracted with is tacking some new and likely frivolous commodity shop onto the end of an ever-sprawling Main Street in search of a sandwich. He'd known the kids were trouble the minute he saw them, bunch of pastel shorts and boat shoes and probably a billion dollar trust fund between them, up to no good now the high-school'd let out for the summer.

He wouldn't have done anything about it - he'd been something of a hell-raiser once and it was no skin off his ass if Chad or Todd or Bryson had to spend a little time wailing in the pokey until daddy came to bail them out - except that one of the little bastards had picked up a stray clod of ragged edge concrete, thrown it _hard_ into the alley the gaggle of them was hovering at the mouth of, and gotten a sharp, pained yelp in response.

Josh may not have ever considered himself an especially honorable man, but a bunch of cruel-eyed teen boys ganging up on a little runt of a thing with a bum leg seemed mightily unfair, and while Josh may not have been honorable, exactly, neither was he above using his two-hundred odd pounds of wild living to put the fear of god into a handful of jumped-up idiots.

All of which - and a somewhat harried phone call to his neighbor, Emma, who thankfully works as a vet tech at a local animal clinic - has earned him this: a miserable, whining heap of what he has been assured will eventually be some big, dumb monster of a dog, and a veterinarian who looks like he waltzed straight off the covers of one of the bodice-rippers that Josh will deny until the end of time occasionally indulging in.

Broad shoulders, wavy hair pulled back into a short ponytail that _should_ look ridiculous but somehow doesn't, roguish beard and lush mouth curling sweetly around every word he speaks, while some unidentifiable medallion glints at the hollow of his throat, just above where the collar of his button down has been left undone just high enough to maintain respectability.

"Mr. Faraday?" the vet - Dr. Vasquez, by his introduction and the little name-tag pinned to his pocket - asks while Josh's eyes snap back up to his face, in a tone that tells Josh this isn't the first time he's said it.

"Uh, sorry," Josh says, and feels a damning heat flood the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears. "Down around Main and Bull. Coupla shitheel kids had him cornered down an alley, throwin' rocks at him."

"Hm," Dr. Vasquez says noncommittally, and Josh is surprised and somewhat delighted there's an edge of menace to the sound that promises swift violence should he ever catch the little bastards in the act. Dr. Vasquez takes a deep breath and then bends down to feel along the puppy's ribs, sighing "Well, he's lucky he had you to rescue him."

Josh's traitorous face heats further. He swallows, a little awkwardly.

"I don't know about _rescue_ ," he murmurs, reluctant to pit himself the hero despite the fact that those hellish little assholes might've killed the thing if he hadn't intervened.

"Does he have a name?" Dr. Vasquez asks, without looking up, which is a small blessing because Josh may or may not have gotten slightly distracted by the way his slacks pull across his very lovely ass when he bends over.

"What? Uh - he ain't mine," Josh supplies somewhat stupidly.

Dr. Vasquez arches an eyebrow up at him, corners of his mouth tilting in amusement.

"So no name, then?"

"Uh," Josh says helpfully. "I called him Lucky Jack, back in the alley, but that ain't much of a name."

Dr. Vasquez's smirk widens a little and he wrinkles his nose, thoughtful. For reasons that Josh is absolutely certain are unrelated, his stomach twists and flutters.

"I don't know," Dr. Vasquez says. "I think it suits him. Pretty lucky day for a dog who doesn't seem to have had much so far. Hang onto him for a second?"

"Yeah, sure," Josh mutters, and maneuvers into place to curl a palm around the puppy's chest. He offers up his other hand while Dr. Vasquez digs around for something in a drawer on the other side of the table, and the puppy - Lucky Jack, apparently - gives it a few tentative sniffs before dragging his slimy little tongue across Josh's knuckles.

"Gross," Josh says, but he's grinning. Dr. Vasquez clears his throat politely, and when Josh looks up it's to find the other man giving him a knowing grin.

"He ain't mine," Josh insists.

Dr. Vasquez shrugs.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Faraday," he says agreeably, and sets a little foil-topped square of wet dog food on the counter in front of Jack, who's nosing curiously at it before Dr. Vasquez even gets the corner peeled up. Jack falls on it ravenously, and Josh's heart twinges a little at the picture he makes - desperately hungry little thing all left alone, with a fucked up leg and a big, ugly gash cutting down over the crown of his head into an eye that Dr. Vasquez has already explained he may or may not be able to use, or keep, depending on how well he heals.

"We'll stitch up the wound," Dr. Vasquez explains again, while Jack delights in his feast, little worm tail wriggling furiously. "See if we can do anything about the leg, but that's an old injury so it will depend on a few things."

Josh shakes his head and sighs.

"Look, doc, I appreciate the kindness you're doing this little fella, but I don't make the kinda cash it takes to pay for all that."

It's decent work, what Josh does, and some months are leaner than others depending on how the table treats him in his off-hours, but he barely has the money to keep himself in passably adequate healthcare, let alone blow what's looking like near around a thousand dollars on a dog that isn't even his.

"We have programs that cover this sort if thing," Dr. Vasquez supplies casually. He rubs a hand down Jack's back and for a split second his fingers and Josh's are near enough to touch. Josh tries to pretend that doesn't make anything warm stir to life in his gut, but the heat in his face tells him his efforts aren't especially fruitful.

He huffs a laugh and forces a little levity to joke, "What, asshole kids?"

"Rescues," Dr. Vasquez corrects. "The hospital collects a fund for strays in need so that when good samaritans like yourself bring them in, we can give them the care they deserve."

Josh snorts at 'good samaritan,' but he has to admit it's something of a relief to know that after all the time spent running those kids off and coaxing Jack out from behind a pile of broken-down boxes to where he could reach him, the little hard-luck pup is going to get a second shot.

"Good," Josh says, gruff, and rubs his hand over Jack's velvety little ears. "That's good. What happens after you fix him all up?"

He cuts a careful glance over at Dr. Vasquez, unsure of what precisely is in his face right this moment and not quite willing to risk baring it to a stranger, even if he is handsome as the devil.

"We adopt him out," Dr. Vasquez supplies easily. "Find him a good home, with someone who will give him a good life."

Josh nods, and swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat.

"Good," he says again, feeing like a broken record while something bittersweet cracks softly between his ribs. "He deserves a good home, don'cha, you ugly little bastard?"

Dr. Vasquez laughs, and when Josh glances over at him his smile is just as radiant as Josh had guessed it would be.

"So," he says, taking a breath and steeling himself, pulling his hands away and trying not to notice when Jack turns curiously at their sudden absence. He sticks them into his pockets to avoid doing anything foolish, like reaching back out to grab Jack or Dr. Vasquez or both. "That all you need from me?"

"You filled out the paperwork when you came in?" Dr. Vasquez asks, running his fingers in little, soothing circles all down Jack's back. Josh nods, and Dr. Vasquez smiles and confirms, "That's all I need."

"Right," Josh says, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the door at his back. "I'll just, uh, see myself out, then."

He's got the door to the lobby halfway open when Dr. Vasquez says, "You can come and visit him, if you want. While he's in recovery."

Josh doesn't think he's imaging the hopeful lilt to the doctor's voice.

"Yeah?" he asks. Dr. Vasquez nods.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to see you," he assures. He hesitates for a moment, as if considering something, and then adds with a careful, almost shy grin, "I wouldn't mind, either. If it sweetens the deal any."

Josh feels his face go from hot to burning, damned fair complexion always tilting his hand when he's most concerned with playing it close to the vest.

"I could probably manage that," Josh says, and despite what later accounts may report, he is not at all breathless when he says it, and nor does he swoon against the doorjamb.

"Good," Dr. Vasquez says, and there's a wash of color across his cheeks that makes Josh's pulse kick up. "I'll see you soon, then."

"Yeah," Josh promises, stumbling one foot past the doorway and nearly going ass-over-teakettle because he can't quite drag his eyes away from the perfect curve of that grin. "Yeah, definitely."

He has no idea what he must look like as he practically sprints toward the front door and his piece-of-shit old Ford but from the way Emma's eyebrows disappear into her hairline he has a pretty good feeling that he's given the game away already

When he gets back to the site, most of the work is already done for the day, the guys gathered around a battered old cooler, having a beer and relaxing while the evening crowd along the main drag starts to pick up. They give him a few minutes' worth of good-natured ribbing about skiving off of work, but nobody seems to mind overly much, and Goody, one of the foremen, claps a hand to his shoulder and says approvingly, "You did good, son."

As Josh settles down into the foldout chair next to him, Red takes a lazy pull off of his beer and says, "Heard you got a new dog."

Josh shrugs, pops the cap off his own bottle with the opener he keeps on his keyring and is halfway through shrugging that the damn dog ain't his before he realizes it was all a set-up for Teddy Q to flash a shit-eating grin and add, "Heard you got a new boyfriend, too."

Josh groans and rolls his eyes, because he always forgets that Teddy has that thing with Emma and her stupid-hot lawyer husband, and when the three of them aren't busy attempting incredibly acrobatic feats in the privacy of the home directly next door to Josh's, they're the three worst gossips in the state, unless Goodnight is in the running.

"Faraday and Vasquez sittin' a tree - " Teddy starts, and Faraday lets him get through F, U, and C before he brains him with his bottle cap, to the hooting laughter of any of the assembled who are prone to such.

There's gonna be slack to pick up tomorrow for the hours he was gone, and he's fairly certain that the handsome veterinarian will change any opinions he has of Josh after prolonged exposure but, all in all, he's had worse days, and he can't quite bring himself to regret this one.

Even if Teddy's gonna ride the mileage out of this one for months to come.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
